Eager I was to initial your flesh
Mark it mine forever
(a fairly short forever as I recall.)
You called up my drainpipe
Your hot unvaried song
“Who will know?”
We were the ones who did not know.
The treehouse was our yearbook –
Memory’s coffin; there
You swallowed me whole
Like a circus act,
A disappearing act
None saw
While insects feasted on our
Unwatched blood
Bursting to the rhythm
Of our bursting.
If I mistake your face these days
In a flower-field of faces
Shifting to moon pressure
Swaying to wind pressure
Listing according to laws unknown
Count me not
Along your abacus of traitors;
I am She;
The blood still flows, still glows
In the treehouse.
Alysse Aallyn 